Avonlea Vignettes
by easterngreen
Summary: One shot stories concerning the daily activies of our favorite Avonlea characters. Requests for a character is fine! Thirdly, A five month engagement separation with three years to go, a Christmas snow storm, Gilbert's canceled train, and a waiting Anne.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Ah! Another Anneofgreengables fic. I know I shamelessly ripped the title of the story off of canon but I think you can all forgive me right? We all know that I do not own any of the characters or the basic plot- that is L.M Montgomery's. Also, I claim no ownership of Through the Looking-Glass; I am just an avid Alice in Wonderland Fan. No, the ownership belongs to Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (better known as Lewis Carroll). I intend to make this a little series from various people's every day lives in Avonlea.: )

Enjoy the story!

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Avonlea Vignettes- Wonderful Stare

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**He was watching her again…**

He was watching her again. She didn't have to turn around to sense his stare burning into the back of her neck, to feel the hair rise up in the way that only his gaze seemed to accomplish.

It was Wednesday morning and she was facing the front of the School House, watching Ms. Stacy give a lecture on nocturnal creatures- Anne wasn't sure what was so special about a nocturnal creature other than the fact that it particularly liked the night. She was reaching up her right hand to scratch at the distracting itch that had been bothering her all morning. She didn't have to sit up straighter and turn her head a bit to look behind her- but she did, she had a feeling she know what was causing the itch, or rather, who.

When she saw him staring out of the corner of her eye she hastily turned around. The itch was no longer a mystery.

He always seemed to have and affect on her, usually sparking her anger. Anne couldn't help it that her usual reaction to Gilbert Blythe was to bristle. Lately though, when he was in her general vicinity, Anne just took to ignoring him, which didn't work as well as snubbing him- and yes there was a difference. In snubbing she acknowledged his presence and then turned up her nose. In ignoring she simply didn't acknowledge his existence. The problem with disregarding him in such a way was that it didn't seem to discourage him; rather it gave him an ample opportunity to stare at her unhindered by her blazing glare. Or cute upturned nose. Another problem with ignoring Gilbert Blythe was the reaction she was having to him. Lately her body had decided not to bristle in anger, but it seemed to bristle in something else entirely. The only thing Anne could come up with without discerning the feeling's full meaning- which she didn't want, was that it was a feeling of _acknowledgement_. This was admittedly ironic considering she was trying to ignore the said person staring at her. Anne had learned that in situations like this, for Gilbert had taken to staring at her often, it was best not to turn around.

Because, while the itching itself was a distracting side effect resulting from his stare, the look in his eyes was much worse.

* * *

Anne had never pretended to begin to understand boys, but she knew that that look was not one she commonly saw in the other boys' eyes. She never even saw that sort of look on Gilbert when he interacted with people; sometimes she deigned to look at him, though not usually when he was looking at her. Yes, the look he normally wore was much different from the look he had in his eyes when he stared at her. She knew because one time, and one time _only_, she had made the mistake of turning half way around in her seat and staring right back at him.

In the one instance she had looked back, her writer's imagination had gone crazy; well, more fanatical than usual, because something about Gilbert's eyes had _always_ fascinated her. In the instant when she had looked back his gaze had been the most intense she'd ever seen coming from a person. Unfathomable darkness lit in his, normally shadowy blue, eyes. _'It is no wonder really,'_ she had thought dimly to herself. _'That my hair stands up, I'm surprised it doesn't burn'._ She had been entranced in that moment, by his eyes, his dark blue- almost black really- smoldering stare She watched him as he watched her, she watched as his eyes seemed to absorb all the light around him yet reflect it back out at her.

She had felt as if the stare had lasted forever, though it had really only lasted a moment. Gilbert had seemed to realize that she was actually looking back at him and had flushed and blinked, quickly dissolving the look that had simmered within his eyes. He had given a swift unreadable glance back to Anne, who had watched with unconcealed interest as his flush deepened, and then turned his eyes to his reader; which was held in a white knuckled grip. Anne had continued to blatantly look at him, watching him flush and squirm with curiosity, until Diana had leaned discreetly over the desk and asked in a whisper and raised brow, just what was so interesting about Gilbert Blythe today? It had been Anne's turn to flush and jerk her gaze forward.

* * *

After that incident, when she felt his stare, she just ignored it. She knew Gilbert probably thought he was mighty proficient at the whole stare-at-a-girl-without-drawing-said-girl's-attention, and she didn't want to grant him a victory but she _really_ didn't want to turn around and face his eyes again. So it was on this Wednesday that Anne found herself moving restlessly in her seat and occasionally reaching back to itch her neck. As a result of ignoring Gilbert Blythe's stare, Anne had trouble paying attention for the last thirty minutes of the science lecture.

When Ms. Stacy called for recess, and eternity later, Anne quickly reached into her desk, pulled out her copy of _Through the Looking-Glass_, laughed at a half-heard joke from Diana, and turned around. She watched as Gilbert made his way down the isle towards the door, she watched as he raised his chin as a greeting to a friend across the room, while he laughed at another friend's joke. She watched as he mindlessly reached up to itch the back of his neck and glance over his shoulder at her. She watched as surprise and something else light up in his eyes and she managed to give him a small smile and then, before she could see his reaction, she looked away and began talking to Diana about the book in her hand:

"-And really Diana, the entire thing is just a clever piece of satirical writing. The whole chess theme is incredibly symbolic."

"_Really?_" Diana, who had seen the entire interaction between Anne and Gilbert and was not fooled, said with emphasis. "What with Alice trying to become Queen?" Anne blushed at Diana's knowing look; there were no secrets from bosom friends.

"Yes, yes, and about her being a Pawn. Come on Diana! Let's go outside and continue reading, we were at a perfectly wonderful part when we had to stop yesterday! I just about _died_ from the suspense." She hooked her arm around Diana's as they made their way down the school house isle, deliberately ignoring the boy who lingered just outside the door with a few friends. She had spent far too much time that day paying attention to Gilbert Blythe. Diana laughed.

"Anne! I doubt she is able to see _Nobody_! And I'm sure it is the same Lion and Unicorn from all those songs and poems." Safely past the school house, and into the little wood, Anne found a nice grassy spot and took a seat. The rest of the recess was spent in such conversation. Conversation concerning Wonderland and rabbit holes, and by the time it was over Diana and Anne had almost finished the book, and all thoughts of Gilbert Blythe and his eyes had been firmly pushed into the back of Anne's mind and suppressed.

* * *

A/N: Oh, poor Anne really is clueless: I wonder why Gil has that look in his eyes when he stares at her?

Also, I noticed I'm getting _a lot _of hits on my stories but a pitiful amount of _reviews_. Honestly, does it really take that long to write up a quick review concerning your opinion of the story? I write these, not only for my enjoyment, but I share them for yours. I'd like to know what you think- should I continue? I think I'm going to because I enjoy writing this fandom but I'd like to hear from you guys! Well, til' next time, Thanks.

-Kay


	2. Empty Skies

a/n: A rather depressing one that I apologize ahead for. I always wondered at the funeral in the movie verse of AoGG and Gilbert so…I know Gil's character is particularly dark in this one but I also think he might have thought these things just because his relationship with Anne was a long time in coming. Everyone gets discouraged sometimes and Gil had to wait years to get his girl – he almost died for goodness sake! So…I'm sure he had some hard days.

Also, sorry if some things aren't right I was writing this from memory and it hasn't been edited but I've been getting some hits lately and I wanted to do something. I'm in an AoGG mood so there might be more coming!

Do review though and tell me what you think PLEASE, it would make me happy!

Disclaimer applies.

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**Empty Skies**

* * *

_'It is not the proper sort of weather for a funeral.' _Gilbert Blythe thought absently as he pulled right cuff of his black suit further down around his wrist. _'It should be raining.'_

The sky was a clear blue and the birds were singing in the trees, hopping around from branch to branch. The small chapel shined a bright white in the sunlight. The sun itself burnt heat into the back of Gilbert's dark formal suit. The wind ruffled his hair, pushing dark curls into his eyes.

He stood lined up next to his mother, who was sniffing quietly into her lace handkerchief, and Mr. Colvy, who was staring solemnly into the distance. The wind had pushed the man's black hat slightly eschew.

Gilbert looked away from the man with the faraway look in his eyes, he looked across the hole in the ground, the lowered casket, and then he felt his eyes become inextricably drawn to the dark clothed figure of Anne Shirley.

He had been glancing at her frequently throughout the ceremony- just to see how she was holding up.

* * *

When Gilbert Blythe had heard, four days ago, about the death of Matthew Cuthbert, over one of his favorite breakfasts of oatmeal and apple juice, he had dropped his spoon in surprise:

"_**What?"** _

_Clank, went the spoon, and Gilbert had stared for a moment at his mother and then sullenly at the rather large oatmeal spot on his blue shirt all the while trying to think of nothing._

"_**I know, it is a horrible tragedy, though Rachel said she thought he had had the signs of ill health for a while." **His mother reached over with a kitchen towel to wipe oatmeal bits off the table and to push his apple juice farther away from the table's edge._

'_**That's ridiculous!'** Gilbert wanted to shout, a spurt of irrational anger suddenly hitting him right in the chest, he moved his stare to his cooling oatmeal. **'Rachel Lynde doesn't know anything, she's an old gossi- oh God, Anne!'** This last part was accompanied with a short gasp as Gilbert Blythe's epiphany hit him._

_Anne. Anne must be feeling horrible and quite suddenly Gilbert was not feeling so well himself. _

_Pushing the cold oatmeal away from him, lining it up with the apple juice on the table, Gilbert glanced up at his mother who was buttering some toast across from him while watching him with a knowing look in her eyes._

"_When did he die?" Gilbert asked._

"_Early this morning." _

_Gilbert was silent, watching as his mother methodically spread her butter and set the knife down quietly. His mind was very far away._

"_Gilbert." Mrs. Blythe waited until her son's hesitant eye's met hers. After a moment and a searching look she spoke softly. "Gilbert, Anne was there in the field when Mr. Cuthbert died. She was with him."_

_Gilbert felt something akin to panic and a sick, guilty, feeling settled in his stomach. For some absurd reason his first thought was-_

'**_I should have felt it.' _**

_His hands clenched into fists in his lap and he felt the helplessness tighten his chest. A minute later his heart beat had slowed down and Gilbert was chastising himself about his reaction. _

_He had had no way of knowing what had happened, he said to himself. It was not his fault. And yet, that heavy knot in his belly would not go away. _

'_**This morning,'** he thought blindly to himself, jaw tightening. **'This morning, I was milking my own cows and I was complaining about my overalls being too short to one of them. This morning, while Anne was crying over Matthew Cuthbert in Green Gables' field, I was comparing her hair color to the sunrise. Never mind being so childish, I can't believe I wasn't there for her!' **Gilbert choked on a hysteric laugh, jolting up from his chair and running out the back door when his mother scurried around the table to try and comfort him. _

'_**Not that she'd let me.' **He thought bitterly as he quickly strode across an open field, trying to draw in deep breaths of air. **'She hates me.'**_

_The knot in his stomach clenched and Gilbert, lip's tight and staunchly ignoring the ache in his gut, picked up his work hammer, that he had left next to a half finished fence before breakfast, and began to re-nail the loose fencing that lined the road along the Blythe field._

* * *

Anne did not look well and the, now ever-present, knot in Gilbert's stomach grew heavier. The red-head had always been pale, with creamy skin that Gilbert loved to watch flush with anger or happiness. Today however, she was exceedingly pale and her skin stood out sickly against the black of her mourning dress.

Gilbert watched her throughout the ceremony, watched as she never cried but rather comforted Marilla who stood next to her in silent tears.

He watched as the funeral ended and hordes of people gave their condolences.

He watched as Anne's eyes stayed downwards even as the people patted her arm, and he watched as her face grew taunt and she looked away to the horizon line.

He felt sick and helpless and his hands shook as he dropped the wild flowers he had brought into the hole with the casket that had Matthew sleeping forever inside. The sun was really making him uncomfortable and Gilbert wondered if Anne felt as bad as he did about the weather situation, he knew she was that sort of person.

* * *

As the last of the people began to leave the cemetery, and Marilla and Anne began to turn away, Gilbert felt that panic that had been repressed for four days well up and try to suffocate him.

Walking away from his mother, who was speaking to Mrs. Lynde about something, Gilbert took several wide strides toward Anne Shirley. His mind was racing, abuzz with a pandemonium of thoughts on the weather, flowers, love, and red.

And Anne. Anne whom he knew he must speak to. Who he knew hated him, who he knew could never love him. Who he knew was hurting so badly her eyes were dying.

"I'm sorry." He said to her, to both of them but really just to her. He was standing as close to Anne as he could get without being forward and he still couldn't get her to look at him.

Not that she ever looked at _him._ The knot doubled in size.

Marilla gave him a nod of recognition and tightened her arm around Anne's. She said something back to him but Gilbert couldn't quite hear what over the pounding of his heart. He glanced at Anne, willed her to look up, and for a moment he thought she would.

But her eyes were too far away, and he knew that she was thinking of Matthew, thinking how he must have been the first man, the first _anyone_, to ever really love her.

He wanted to shout, _You're wrong! You're wrong!_ But he knew she would not hear him.

Still, he whispered out another _sorry_ for the things he could not say to her but spoke with his eyes – he knew his eyes said things from the way his mother had looked at him knowingly, from the way Marilla looked at him now.

He watched Anne walk away with Marilla and mused on how Anne was always walking away from him and never looking back.

'_Someday,'_ he thought desperately, trying to ease the suspicious pressure behind his eyes that came from squinting in the wind too much. '_Someday, I might just forget to follow you Anne Shirley. Someday, when **you** love **me**, I might walk away.' _

But these sorts of conversations that Gilbert Blythe had with himself sometimes were futile as he knew in his heart they would never come to pass.

* * *

Ala said the brilliant author as she tries not to cry. Well, I did warn you...and now I say **review** and the next one will be of Anne and Gilbert engaged and together and romancy...ah love!

...have I mentioned how much I HATE the spacing on this site? I GIVE UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


	3. Late Train

a/n: Well, I'm on a roll! Thanks to the lovely reviews!

I pretty much wrote this like Gilbert was my nonexistent perfect guy who is just WONDERFUL….so, he's in character alright! Perceptive, caring, a great kisser, gorgeous, and calm (well mostly), Gilbert Blythe is every woman's dream! Duh! This is the sappy, Christmas-y story that came out of no where but I did promise a sap story. And I've never really written sap before (but I've read A LOT) so it was sort of embarrassing to write…. Tell me how I did PLEASE!! (Did I scar you? Did I make you blush, or squee, or laugh, or cry?) I think I'm going to have vignettes from all three years before they're married in here but I don't know. It depends on how good I am at writing them together so to speak. The fluff is almost obnoxious but it was soooo addictive that, even though it was embarrassing to write, I COULDN'T STOP!! Please don't be thrown off even though it sounds like a bodice ripping romance novel (haha, it's not THAT bad). and damn I just forgot that Rachel's supposed to be living with Anne and M. but lets just say her husband hasn't died yet (i know this is getting bad...)

Oh yeah, all the cities I refer to I'm pretty sure they're real but if I talk about them in a geographically wrong way- my apologies. Also, about the eye reference (thank you btw) I usually get his facial features from the actor Jonathan Crombie (who I think does have dark blue eyes but I'm not sure, I'll have to check). Anyway, I think we can all agree that GB has curly dark hair yes? And also, now that I think about it, if his eyes were hazel, they could be a hazel blue (mine are hazel green) that just means they have brown and blue in them depending...

Disclaimers apply of course- enjoy and review!

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**Late Train **

* * *

The surprise snow storm that had hit Avonlea the night before would have usually been a pleasant surprise for one of its residents. However, once Anne Shirley found out that because of the snow storm all of the trains coming into the little town were canceled or delayed until the storm cleared up, Anne figured it was shaping up to be a Jonah day after all.

"Why does this always happen to me!" Anne exclaimed, looking out the frost covered window at the barely visible tree line across the road. "Marilla, this has ruined everything."

Marilla Cuthbert, who was sitting across the room in her rocker trying to mend a pair of socks, discretely rolled her eyes.

"There had been warning of a snow storm for the past week Anne, if Gilbert was smart, he would have canceled his ticket ahead of time." _He probably did._ She added silently to herself, tying off the end thread on the mended right sock.

"And we don't even know that! The mail's been stopped for the past two days because of the storm that hit Carmondy." Anne sullenly turned around, pulling her knees up to her chin. "What if he's hurt Marilla? I would never know it."

"Anne, child you worry too much. The Blythes have always had a strong constitution and your Blythe is particularly smart." Marilla sighed tiredly as Anne looked up at her doubtfully from her knees. "I'm sure in your heart you'd know if something were really wrong. Besides, Rachel said she'd send Matt Lendbury over with news if anything happened to anyone." _And Rachel would know._

Anne sat up and looked towards the fire. "Yes, I would know wouldn't I." It wasn't a question.

_Still…_Anne thought as she calmed her frayed spirits down. _Still, I was so excited about spending Christmas with Gil…With spending **anytime** with Gil._

It was the sixth month of their engagement and this Christmas was going to be the first time since August that Anne had seen Gilbert. Gilbert had explained to Anne that their separation pained him, that their separation for the past two years had pained him. He'd hoped to help her prepare for the worst, for the strain that was sure to come and Anne had felt she was prepared.

The strain was really not that bad when she wrote letters to Gilbert everyday about what she had done, what she had said, what she thought _he _would have said had he been there – he might as well have been there!

The strain was not that bad when he wrote her letters back, with his strong, smooth penmanship that talked of his days at school, his hard tests – that he passed with his immense wit and hours of studying -, the replies to her days – what he _really _would have said, how he missed her.

The strain was not so bad except when she sat down to write the love letters, and perhaps that is why she told Gilbert she must have the perfect sort of pen to write him a letter of that kind. It wasn't that she didn't love writing them to him, although the first one had been sort of embarrassing, it was just that she felt his absence most keenly when she wrote about how wonderful she thought his hair was, how wonderful she though his hugs where, his hands, his eyes, his mouth.

Anne sighed. Yes this was a Jonah day.

But she knew it would get better. Tomorrow the snow would stop, the mail would arrive, with news of Gilbert, and it would be Christmas in Avonlea.

Yes, the strain was not so bad, and even with three years of waiting ahead of her, Anne knew it would be worth it.

_If only three years did not seem so long._ Was Anne's last thought on the matter, as Marilla successfully snagged her attention with a debate she had seen in the newspaper from a week ago.

* * *

Six hours later, the storm had not abated and at ten o'clock at night, the two women at the Green Gable farm were preparing for bed.

Anne in her nightgown and open robe was sweeping the kitchen, commenting on how Matt hadn't even thought to come over and tell them the storm wasn't stopping to Marilla who was walking up the stairs, when there was a knock on the door.

"Well, speak and he shall come!" Anne said laughingly as she ran into the foyer to let the young man in, knowing the weather was cold and that the news must be urgent. Holding her robe shut with one hand and forcing the swollen wood open with the other she looked up with a warm smile at Matt.

Except it wasn't Matt, it was Gilbert.

* * *

There was a moment where both seemed unsure what to do with themselves: Anne stood in the threshold, her hand had fallen from her robe and the wind was sweeping it over her left shoulder. Her eyes where trained to the man's face that was pink from the cold, her mouth was open. Gilbert's hands were clenched at his side, his battered trunk at his feet, and his eyes, his eyes were sweeping Anne's form as if he'd never expected to see her again. 

But that moment was gone so fast it almost ceased to exist, as Anne gasped, Gilbert smiled, held out his arms and, with a laugh that sounded suspiciously like a sob, Anne Shirley fell into them.

Weaving one hand into her loose hair and wrapping the other tighter around her waist, Gilbert pulled her snuggly to him.

"Do you always answer the door in such a state Anne Shirley?" He asked, voice low, as he chuckled into her neck causing her to shiver. "I should be worried. You'll either catch your death or shock whoever's visiting."

Anne, who was looking over his shoulder and smelling his hair, it smelt of Christmas and snow, blushed.

"I thought it was Matt Lendbury, with news about the storm." She spoke quietly her mind seemed to have forgotten its speech, her eyes blurred, her breath caught. She tightened her grip as she felt Gilbert begin to pull away. "You are so much better."

Gilbert did pull away, but only far enough to kiss her.

It was the sort of kiss that Anne knew would invade her dreams at night, and fuel at least a years worth of love letters to this man, perfect pen or not.

Closing her eyes she sank into him, into his mouth and let her tired mind fuzz over as his tongue swept her thoughts away.

When he pulled away an eternity later, his hands cradling her cheeks, he whispered _I love you_, and she started to cry.

"Anne? Anne, what is it?!" He asked worriedly, pulling her inside, kicking his trunk in with his left foot and closing the door blindly. "What, do I kiss that badly?" He asked, in an only half-joking manner; it had been a long five months of separation.

Anne shook her head, putting her hand to her mouth and took deep breaths trying desperately to stop her tears.

Gilbert reached over to gently sweep some curls off her forehead, as he hugged her again.

"It's okay." He whispered, tucking her head under his chin. "I'm here." For a couple of minutes they stood like that, him in his dark wet wool trench coat, red scarf, and traveling hat, her in her blue robe and night gown, barefoot but still so warm in his arms.

Soon the tears died down as other thoughts crowded her head and she realized she had absolutely nothing to be upset about, she'd never been this happy. She stilled in his arms for a moment, listening to his steady breaths and his whispered endearments, holding onto his damp lapels…

"Gilbert! You're all wet!" She pulled back and looked at him in dismay. The man was leaving a nice puddle in the foyer. "You'll get a cold!"

Gilbert laughed and watched her with warm eyes as she reached up to unwrap his scarf. He stood where he was, as not to spread the puddle farther, and Anne hung up his scarf. Walking back quickly she raised an eyebrow and held her hand out.

"Give me your hat Mr. Blythe." She said with her chin raised.

Gilbert fought a smile, raised his chin in a haughty manner in response and folded his hands in front of him.

"Why, Miss. Shirley, I don't believe that's a very decorous way to talk to a guest."

"Mr. Blythe, would you _please_ give me your hat. You're making a rather obnoxious puddle in the middle of my foyer and it would ill mannered of me to let you air dry, but I simply cannot let you in any farther with those wet garments on." Anne spoke clearly and politely, keeping her eyes on Gilbert's and biting her lip at the end of her speech to stifle what looked suspiciously like a grin.

Gilbert could not stifle his.

Reaching up, he pulled off his hat, which ruffled up his dark curls endearingly, and handed it to her wanting very badly to just grab her for a kiss. _Ah, but that would not be the decorous thing to do in this little game_, he laughed silently as he scolded himself. He began to unbutton his coat as she hung his hat up, so he had it ready for her in his hand before she turned around to request it.

"Thank you Mr. Blythe." This time a smile slipped through her mouth and he was out of his shoes, in his red christmasy socks, and behind her before she had a chance to turn around from putting his coat away. Wrapping his arms around her, and kissing her neck he relished the surprised gasp she let out.

"Why Mr. Blythe! This is incredibly forward of you!" Anne exclaimed, squirming to turn around in his arms and moaning as his lips latched on to hers hungrily. Yes, five months was too long.

"I'm sorry Ms. Shirley." Gilbert whispered breathlessly as he pulled away minutes later. "But I think you were teasing me by answering the door in your night gown and saying you were expecting another man."

"Oh, shut up." Anne laughed at his mischievous grin and wiggling eyebrows. She dropped the polite game and pulled him into the living room, where a fire was roaring, by his hands.

* * *

Sitting on the couch she watched him settle himself in his grey sweater and slacks. His hair was already starting to dry in a disarray of black curls. Gilbert caught her looking at it and grimaced.

"I had it done nicely this morning, I promise." He said as he tried to brush it out flatter with no effect. "It's just that the snow got it and, well…my hair doesn't like being combed in the first place."

It was charming, watching him blush and try to fix his hair for her, thinking she found something wrong with it. Reaching over she stilled his hands and put hers on his hair to replace them.

"I like it fixed to be sure." She grinned at his pout and gave him a quick kiss. "But," She whispered playfully, "I like it curly better."

He laughed, and she settled down in his arms.

"I missed you." He whispered playing with the fingers of her left hand as her other hand swept through his drying hair.

Anne murmured her response of affirmation. "I love you." She said and then- "I thought all the trains where canceled."

Gilbert's eyes had darkened at her voiced endearment, but now he looked a little like a child with his hand caught halfway in the cookie jar.

"Uhh…They were…" He said, coughing to stall for time. "I canceled my ticket yesterday."

Anne sat up and cocked her head. She took her hand from Gilbert's hair and placed it on his shoulder for balance.

"I don't understand. How are you here?" She asked. "Not that I'm complaining." She hastily added.

Gilbert smiled and sighed. Still stroking her hand he began to speak:

"I heard about the approaching storm about a week ago and I knew there was a good chance it would hit Avonlea, as it had already hit Nova Scotia and Kings Port. I canceled my train ticket to Avonlea and ordered one to Carmondy instead because they usually still run their post trains in bad weather. Sure enough, the storm hit this morning and it was snowing when I arrived at Timmons station at around seven." Gilbert paused to scratch his head and to search for words. He didn't want to tell Anne about the phone calls for a buggy, he didn't want her to feel guilty about making him walk but he didn't want to lie either. Shrugging sheepishly he said.

"It was really just luck that my friend Todd's cousin lives in Carmondy and Jeff, the cousin, was willing to take some money to drop me off at Avonlea's train station despite the weather. From there I walked."

Anne was quiet for a moment, as she watched Gilbert watch her. Then, pulling her hand from his she reached up to stroke his cheek.

"You walked all the way from the train station?" She whispered.

"Yes."

"In the snow?" _In the storm?_

His eyes searched hers. "I had to see you tonight." He spoke softly. "I know I could have waited until the snow cleared in a day or two, but I couldn't wait that long Anne." His voice lowered. "Five months is a long time. Too long a time."

_Exactly._ Anne thought as she tearfully reached out to kiss him. A few minutes later she reluctantly pulled back.

"I'm sorry you had to go through all that trouble. I wish you would have called me, I could have picked you up from the station."

"I know," He smiled, and she touched the happy dimples in his cheeks. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

"Well, it's the best Christmas present I've ever gotten." She said, leaning forward again.

"I'm glad." He whispered, his eyes glowing bright in the fire light.

They didn't talk for a long time after that.

* * *

The next morning, Anne woke up expecting it all to be a dream. Instead, she was wrapped in Gilbert's arms on the couch, head tucked under his chin, and listening to the deep breaths of a sleeper.

Content to lie there forever, she looked to the hearth and the ashes the dead fire had left behind sometime in the night.

It was then that she realized the last time she had seen Marilla was last night heading up the stairs….The stairs that were directly in front of the door…

Anne blushed a red that matched her hair, but after a moment her embarrassment floated away. Marilla hadn't interfered, she'd probably only seen the hug and then walked quietly up the stairs. And even if she _had_ seen the kiss, well, turning a little to look at Gilbert and watching his chest rise and fall, his face relaxed in contentment, and his curls falling in his eyes, Anne couldn't quite bring herself to care a wit.

_After all, _she thought as she leaned forward onto Gilbert's chest, keen to wake him up with a kiss. _After all, it is Christmas…And it has been five months._

* * *

_a/n: and review please!!_


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